


Exposé

by SoftObsidian74



Series: For the Culture [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Awkward Boners, Bisexual T’Challa, Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, M’Baku is thick and sexy and T’Challa can’t deal, Pining, Post Black Panther, Shuri and Okoye know what’s up, Social Media, Sparring as foreplay, so does Queen Ramonda, the media - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:45:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74
Summary: Now that Wakanda is really united, M’Baku and T’Challa are friends. They even spar together. But an open border means attention from international media. When T’Challa welcomed the world to Wakanda, he didn't expect this kind of exposure.





	Exposé

**Author's Note:**

> Beta’d by the wonderful Newsbypostcard

T’Challa watched in fascination and, frankly, amusement as M’Baku argued with each and every member of the Elders’ Council. Today, they were debating a request from the BBC network to film an exposé about life in Wakanda. 

“We are already giving up so much now that our _King_ has promised to open Wakanda to the rest of the world!” M'Baku complained. His manner of saying 'king' was just this side of teasing. “We do not have to give up everything!”

“It is not giving up,” scolded Negasi, the elder leader of the Merchant Tribe. “We can still control what is said and seen. We allow one camera, _one_ , and we review what is filmed.”

“Do you really think you can control these people?” M’Baku asked, now looking directly at T’Challa. 

Whenever M'Baku set his eyes on him with such zeal, it lit a small fire in T'Challa that threatened to roar out of control. T’Challa tightened his grip on chair and met M’Baku’s gaze. 

“You should remember, you are not king of the world,” M’Baku continued. “Perhaps you can control what they do while they are within our borders, but once they leave, they can and will do what they want. It is their way.”

“And what do we have to hide?” T’Challa asked. “We are already sharing our resources. Anything that is hidden, will remain hidden. Our security protocols are far more advanced than anything they could dream of. They cannot twist what they cannot see.”

M’Baku shook his head. “Have you forgotten the lessons of the mandulo? Centuries of world history say they will find a way to twist whatever they find, and when they do, we will have no one to blame but ourselves!”

“Ai! Enough!” said Amadi, the elder from the River Tribe, holding up his hands. “We have been here for over an hour. I have business to return to. Let us vote.”

T’Challa nodded. “All those in favor of allowing the BBC supervised access to pre-approved participants and areas?”

“Ewe!” said all of the representatives except for M’Baku, who simply shook his head.

“Those who oppose?”

“Hayi,” M’Baku said in resignation. 

“The majority has spoken,” T’Challa said. “M’Baku, your dissent and thoughts on the matter have been recorded. We will remember your words and monitor how this interviewer and her cameraman conduct themselves.”

M’Baku pursed his lips, and everyone rose to leave. T’Challa rose last, very slowly, watching as the others left. When the last elder stepped out, he turned to M’Baku with a smirk. “I think you almost won over Kofi that time.”

“I swear to Hanuman they all agreed with me, but they are too stubborn to admit it. They still hold a grudge against the Jabari.”

T’Challa sighed. “Perhaps. But you have to admit, it is rather silly to open our borders and not allow any media to film our beautiful countryside.”

“Yes, opening our borders was a rather silly decision, brother.” M’Baku clapped a hand on T’Challa’s shoulder and squeezed. “But we all understand you are still getting the hang of this king business, so no one holds it against you.”

T’Challa narrowed his eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re trying to goad me into a sparring match.”

The smile he received shouldn’t have been so damn charming, but T’Challa was quickly learning that charm was woven into the fabric of M’Baku. “I could always use a work out, as could you. Sitting around talking politics with the elders will not keep you in shape for battle or your duties as Black Panther.”

Grinning, T’Challa clapped his hands. “I accept your challenge. I will see you in the courtyard in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, you will.”

*

When T’Challa arrived at the royal courtyard, Okoye threw a knowing look his way before returning to her usual blank stare. He ignored her, trying to push down his self-consciousness. He knew the Dora talked amongst themselves, and Okoye had dropped more than a few innuendos about his sudden interest in M’Baku’s company. But she knew nothing, he resolutely decided. 

Except that M’Baku was already there, and it was hard not to do a double take. While both T’Challa and M’Baku took great satisfaction in the tactile nature of the fight, T’Challa also took satisfaction in other things as well, such as M’Baku’s muscular torso. Shirtless, he was perfection, and the white ibhulukwe pants did nothing to hide his incredibly muscular thighs. It was hard for T’Challa not to let his mind not wander to more debased thoughts about his new brother-in-arms.

Okoye cleared her throat, and T’Challa quickly forced his eyes up, away from those glorious pectorals.

Perhaps not fast enough because M’Baku was smirking. “Did you come here to have a staring contest?” he taunted, a playful gleam in his eyes.

T’Challa raised his fists. “If I did, you would lose that as well.”

M’Baku barked out a laugh and bade T’Challa to start with inward wave of his fingers. “Enough talk. Come and strike me, if you can.”

They fell into their dance of combat. With M’Baku, it was always easy to find a rhythm. Anyone watching them would have assumed they’d trained together their whole lives. Now that they were allies, even friends, T’Challa could let down his guard a little and enjoy M’Baku like this, admiring the way M’Baku used his strength to execute cunning and bold offensive attacks. 

Sometimes the sheer confidence and force of M’Baku would steal T’Challa’s breath. M’Baku’s eyes would always flash in those moments, like he knew the effect he was having on T’Challa had nothing to do with the fight. T’Challa found himself trying to concentrate and failing spectacularly. When M’Baku licked his lips and flashed a rather flirtatious smile, T’Challa’s mind blanked. 

When he came back to awareness, M’Baku’s strong arms were lifting him off the ground and then dropping him hard on one side. It hurt, but more from surprise than anything else. 

T’Challa winced as he looked up. M’Baku was smirking, like he _knew_ exactly what effect he had on T’Challa. 

“You seem distracted, _King_.”

The thought of M’Baku knowing about his decidedly salacious thoughts was disconcerting, but T'Challa would not be outdone. He pointedly ignored the impressive muscled thighs and sculpted abdomen towering over him and quickly jumped to his feet.

“I was just warming up,” T’Challa said, moving forward. “Now let us begin.”

*

The arrival of the BBC reporter and her cameraman created quite the stir. Good or bad, all of Wakanda had an opinion about the Council’s decision to grant foreign press access. Swarms of people lined around the parameter of the ibhola, just beyond the barricade. The air was thick with anticipation and curiosity. Soon the first foreign airplane would land in Wakanda and it was not lost on T’Challa that it would be the start of a new era in Wakandan history. He had faith it would be a prosperous era, but others were not so convinced. At any rate, it appeared that the entire country had come to have a peek so they could decide for themselves if this reporter had good intentions. 

Silence fell over the crowd as a tall white woman with brown hair stepped off of the plane, followed by a paunchy redheaded cameraman. T’Challa found it impressive how the cameraman managed to keep his face glued to his equipment while descending the steep ladder from the plane.

She introduced herself as Ann Sterling. The cameraman’s name was Rick. T’Challa shook their hands (amazingly, Rick still did not lower his camera one inch). Loud murmurs broke through the crowd as the group walked through the line of Dora Milaje, towards the barricade. 

The first item on the day’s itinerary was a brief tour of the castle, followed by several interviews. Ms. Sterling interviewed T’Challa’s mother Ramonda, his sister Shuri, and several of the castle’s staff. Next, they toured Wakanda’s capital city and walked to the center of the marketplace. Of course, there were places T’Challa did not discuss or take them, but that did not seem to be satisfactory enough for Okoye. 

When Ms. Sterling and Rick became preoccupied with a pottery artisan, Okoye pulled T’Challa aside.

“I think you have said enough,” Okoye said. “Perhaps too much.”

T’Challa almost chuckled, but he held it in so as not to anger his general. “You are paranoid. She has been nothing but kind and transparent about her intentions. Loosen up.”

“No,” Okoye replied flatly. “As the General and your chief protector, I will not ‘loosen up’. What is that? Some phrase you picked up from the Americans? Have they already infiltrated your thinking?”

T’Challa shrugged. Okoye clicked her teeth. 

“Okay!” The reporter cut in, causing Okoye to draw back and glare at her like she’d lost her mind. “We've got some really good material. Do you mind if we return to the castle now? I’d love to sit down with your Elder Council.”

T’Challa nodded. “That would be fine.” As the cameraman closed in on T’Challa’s face and then swung towards Okoye, T’Challa felt an insistent pull on his sleeve. 

Okoye leaned in to whisper in his ear. “If you insist on continuing this, tell your new friend to keep his camera on you. If he points that thing in my face again, I will crush it.”

T’Challa sighed wearily and placed a gentle hand on the cameraman’s arm to steer his lens back towards the sights in the square. At least it would all be over soon.

*

All of the anticipation created an impossible standard, and in the end, having a real-life foreign reporter and her cameraman in Wakanda failed to live up to the hype. People dispersed as the day went on, returning back to the business of their day to day. 

A meet-and-greet luncheon was held so that Ms. Sterling could talk to all of the tribal heads. T’Challa tried to hide his disappointment at M’Baku’s notable absence. Not only was it important for all of Wakanda to be represented, but M’Baku’s company was often the most interesting thing in the room since their reluctant alliance. Not that T’Challa would ever admit it to anyone, least of all M’Baku. T’Challa was doing his best to ignore his feelings toward his former nemesis. 

Still, as the reporter proceeded to interview the tribal heads, T’Challa’s eyes often drifted to the heavy entrance doors with a secret hope that M’Baku would make a grand entrance in the middle of lunch. It seemed like something the man would do. 

Unfortunately for him, there was no such interruption, and the interview dragged on with polite and guarded conversation. When Ms. Sterling finally concluded her questioning, the tribe leaders did not disguise their relief and quickly made their excuses to leave. 

T’Challa rose to thank Ms. Sterling and Rick and was showing them out when a great booming sound startled them all. Everyone’s head turned towards the entrance doors, which had been flung wide open.

The Dora were in warrior stance, but Okoye’s stoic face was teetering on the edge of exasperation. T’Challa couldn’t mask his own emotions quite as well and had to actually close his mouth. 

There, in the center of the doorway, stood M’Baku. He was shirtless (glory be to Hanuman!) with his spear in hand, wearing only Jabari tribal markings on his face and arms, and loose black ibhulukwe pants. 

Understandably, Ms. Sterling appeared transfixed, and her cameraman inched forward little by little. T’Challa willed his nether regions not to stir as M’Baku performed some sort of pec flex that bordered on obscene.

“Good afternoon, my King!” M’Baku nearly shouted, as if T’Challa was not only fifty feet away. “I have come to give you your weekly workout. Shall we?”

“Oh my!” Ms. Sterling murmured. “ _Who_ is this?”

M’Baku lifted his chin and set a ridiculously intense gaze on the woman. T’Challa had to hold in a smile. “I am M’Baku of the Jabari tribe, the greatest warriors in all of Wakanda.”

T’Challa cleared his throat at _that_ exaggeration, but M’Baku simply raised an eyebrow, inviting a challenge to the statement. T’Challa nearly rolled his eyes.

The cameraman got a little too close, and M’Baku’s turned to face him. Rick visibly faltered, taking a big gulp. T’Challa grew tense, but M’Baku simply took a deep breath, opened his arms, and smiled right at the camera. 

“I hope you brought plenty of film. You will not want to miss this! Two of Wakanda's greatest warriors sparring until one concedes defeat. You are about to witness greatness. Are you ready, _my King_?” M’Baku asked. His eyes were bright with challenge and, if T’Challa wasn’t mistaken, a glimmer of amusement.

It was hard to reign in his smile, but T’Challa managed. “Not yet," he conceded, "but give me ten minutes.”

“Very well,” M’Baku said, more to the camera than to T’Challa. “I shall see you in the courtyard!”

*

As T’Challa changed out of his formal clothing, he chuckled at M’Baku’s dramatic antics. The man was ridiculous. T’Challa was completely smitten. He reminded himself once more that such thoughts were completely inappropriate. M’Baku was now a member of the Elders’ Council and the Jabari tribe’s alliance was still quite new and fragile. M’Baku himself was a new friend, which meant, for the good of the nation, he was off-limits. T’Challa repeated these things to himself while trying to shove down his feelings, even physically shaking himself to get into the sparring mindset. 

M’Baku was already there waiting when T’Challa entered the courtyard. Ms. Sterling and Rick stood to the side, eyes and camera lens darting from M’Baku to T’Challa and back again.

“Shall we use weapons, or engage in hand to hand?” M’Baku asked.

T’Challa paused, thinking. Using spears and shields would highlight the advanced skill and training they both possessed, while also increasing the risk of injury. From T’Challa’s observations of foreign press and media, he knew it would bring a level of intrigue and exhilaration to the reporter’s footage. It was the stuff of good television and would make Wakanda look very ‘cool’ for the masses. 

However, hand to hand combat with M’Baku always gave T’Challa an electric rush so strong it rivaled taking the heart-shaped herb. Lately, it seemed as if M’Baku enjoyed the hands-on contact just as much. Exactly how much and if he enjoyed it in the same way was something that kept T’Challa up at night. Even standing before him now, M’Baku energy radiated anticipation, but whether it was for the challenge or to be closer to T’Challa was impossible to discern. 

It didn’t matter - the thrill of having M’Baku’s strong hands gripping him and the press of their bodies colliding was too much to resist.

“Hand to hand,” T’Challa said.

M’Baku’s eyes gleamed, his pearly white smile shining like the rising sun.“Glory be to Hanuman. Let us begin!” 

M’Baku announced it as if they were playing to a full stadium of onlookers. So ridiculous. Another wave of infatuation rolled through T’Challa, and he scowled at himself and his weakness. 

So caught up in his thoughts, he was struck by surprise when M’Baku charged into him. Suddenly he was being lifted by the waist, slung half over M'Baku's shoulder like a little one. Normally, hanging off M’Baku’s back would inspire T’Challa to do a clever twist and flip move, but with one of M’Baku’s distractingly large hands on his thigh and the other on his waist, all of T'Challa's cleverness was temporarily disarmed. There was only the hot and rough grip of M’Baku’s warm palms to think of. T’Challa tried to take a mental snapshot of the moment, the feel of M'Baku's hands on him, when M’Baku grunted and threw him back down. 

It sounded like so many fevered dreams T’Challa'd had lately. Once again, he froze. 

His back hit the ground before he could think of a way to recover. He lay there a moment, still in shock. Before he could rise, M’Baku was on him, straddling him and pinning him down. 

It was… too much. T’Challa could feel his nether regions rising to take interest in the proceedings. Shock and shame gripped him as he looked up at M’Baku, hoping with all his might that it had gone unnoticed.

M’Baku’s mouth was frozen open, his eyes wide with realization. From his vantage point on the ground, T’Challa saw the fine muscles in M’Baku’s arms tense. M’Baku’s Adam’s apple moved as he took a huge gulp of breath. 

They locked eyes, gripped by uncertainty, until T’Challa heard Ms. Sterling’s crisp British voice whispering rather loudly. “Get closer, Rick.”

T’Challa closed his eyes, humiliation warming his skin. M’Baku shifted over him, which did nothing to flag his erection hard between them. 

M’Baku hummed softly. It sounded considering. T’Challa summoned the last dregs of his dignity to slowly open his eyes so he could face M’Baku’s taunts. 

Only M’Baku was not glaring at him. There was a soft look in his eyes, something like fondness.

Then he laughed. 

T’Challa’s stomach dropped in embarrassment, but M’Baku was no longer looking at him. He was smiling for the camera and at Ms. Sterling. 

“How is that for a demonstration? Very good, yes?”

“Uh, yes, yes. It was really fantastic,” Ms. Sterling said. 

“Well, that is just a taste. We are not merely entertainers for your amusement, so that is all you get today.”

T’Challa looked between M’Baku and Ms. Sterling with curiosity. M’Baku still had a small smile on his face, but his eyes were full of steel and Ms. Sterling waved at Rick until he lowered his camera. M’Baku gave an approving nod and looked down.

“My King, it was a pleasure.”

There was mercy in those eyes, along with a conspiratorial gleam. T’Challa breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. 

“The pleasure was all mine.”

They shared a prolonged stare and then someone, it sounded like Okoye, cleared their throat. T’Challa glanced up at Ms. Sterling, whose lips were pursed in disappointment. Beside her, Rick’s camera hand twitched on the grip, as if he were waiting for permission to start filming again. 

“Did you get everything you needed?” T’Challa asked in a tone that said he was quite finished.

“Yes, of course,” Ms. Sterling said with a little pout. “We really have more than enough footage, and you’ve been so hospitable. It’s probably best if we conclude here.”

“Very well,” T’Challa said with a strained smile as M’Baku adjusted his position, reviving the flagging erection. “If you could, um, just give us a few moments to finish our practice session. I will be right out to escort you to your plane.”

“Oh yes, sure! Have a great practice” Ms. Sterling said. But she didn’t make any move to leave. In fact, no one was moving. T’Challa and M’Baku were watching Ms. Sterling and Rick. And while Rick had lowered his camera, both he and Ms. Sterling were still watching M’Baku and T’Challa as if, by not recording, they’d get to see more sparring. 

T’Challa had no intentions of revealing his shame. Thankfully, M’Baku seemed fully committed to staring them down until they both lowered their eyes and exited with a Dora on either side.

With Ms. Sterling and Rick gone, and the Dora lined on the other side of the courtyard near the exit, the only thing T’Challa had left to face was M’Baku himself. While M’Baku had proven himself a man of good integrity when it counted, T’Challa still held himself ready to be ridiculed now that they were afforded some privacy.

Instead, M’Baku’s weight shifted over T’Challa’s waist once more. T'Challa gasped to feel the hard and impressive line of M’Baku’s cock. 

“You are full of surprises, my King,” M’Baku practically purred in a low sexy whisper that made T’Challa’s stomach flip like a vitumbua cake. 

T’Challa opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He froze again. Damnit. M’Baku’s eyes danced and he had a wicked smirk on his beautiful full lips. T’Challa swallowed, hoping something witty or smooth would come to him, but his mind was a jumble of 'ohno’s and ‘ohyes’s. Soon the steady heavy weight of M’Baku was pulling away as he finally rose to his feet, and when he offered his hand, T’Challa grabbed it, pushing away his embarrassment. 

Not another word was uttered as they walked back to their respective changing areas. But right before T’Challa closed his chamber door, he glanced over his shoulder and found M’Baku looking back at him, smiling.

*

Sometimes Okoye was overprotective, but she was T’Challa’s General for a reason. Her glare alone was enough to scare any shady intentions out of Rick. He hastily offered up all of his footage for inspection. Shuri offered to help review the film, but as T’Challa considered the last thing Rick had recorded, he decided to review the film himself... in private. 

It was all rather innocent really. T’Challa fast forwarded through most of it until he reached the sparring session. Everything about the entire match looked wrong, from the way T’Challa’s eyes fixated on M’Baku’s body to the way he froze and allowed himself to be manhandled and pinned. There was no evidence of his arousal, but... well, his face was an open book. The heavy breathing and staring didn’t help matters. 

When T’Challa emerged with Rick’s camera in hand, he extended it just out of reach of the man’s hands.

“I have reviewed the footage and consent for you to use everything up until sparring match.”

Rick and Ms. Sterling exchanged a glance. Then Ms. Sterling nodded, her smile returning. “That’ll be fine. We have so much great footage. Thank you so much for your hospitality and time. This has been fantastic.”

“You are very welcome,” T’Challa said, handing Rick back his camera. T’Challa and Okoye escorted them back to the runway where promises were made for a follow-up and notification about when the special would air. 

As T’Challa watched the plane take off, Okoye’s sigh of relief was almost as loud as the jet engines. T’Challa turned to her. “Come now, it was not that bad. They were very nice people.”

Okoye made her disapproving clucking noise. “Eh.” 

Sighing, T’Challa raised an eyebrow. “There is a thin line between skepticism and paranoia, my friend.”

“And we shall see who falls on the right side of that line soon,” Okoye said.

T’Challa chuckled. “I suppose we will.”

*

The BBC exposé was excellent. T’Challa’s chest swelled with pride as he watched alongside Shuri, his mother, Okoye, and most of his staff when it ran. Wakanda’s beauty could not really be captured by a camera’s lens, but Rick had done a great job of trying. Everyone was celebrating with hugs and wide smiles and T’Challa breathed a sigh a relief.

“I told you,” he said to Okoye, because he couldn’t resist the opportunity. 

Okoye rolled her eyes but did not reply. 

Everyone in the room listened intently as each of the heads of tribes answered Ms. Sterling’s questions. 

And then… it all went to shit.

The entire room watched and laughed as M’Baku made his grand entrance. But T’Challa couldn’t properly fix his mouth to even smile as the camera panned from M’Baku to capture T’Challa’s reaction. A tight ball of dread began to form in the pit of T’Challa's gut as he watched the open admiration, and—kak!—lust on his face. A hush fell over the room as the camera zoomed in on the way his eyes were drinking in M’Baku like he was completely besotted. 

T’Challa did a mental facepalm. How did he miss this in his review? Oh yes—he’d watched the entire tape on fast forward, so certain the only incriminating footage was at the very end. 

He swallowed, his eyes darting around the room, where several of his staff were steadfastly not looking at him. His mother looked completely shocked, but intrigued, and Okoye had a stupid smile on her face. Ay!

“Brother,” Shuri said, turning her head to look at him with a sly smirk. “Is there something you want to tell us?”

“Yes. Keep your comments to yourself,” T’Challa shot back.

“T’Challa,” his mother scolded. “Be nice. There does appear to be a certain chemistry here. I think M’Baku has proven himself more than trustworthy. I have no concerns about you pursuing him.”

“Mother!”

Queen Ramonda just shrugged. “Honestly, after you and Nakia broke up, I saw this coming.”

T'Challa tried to mask his shock and bewilderment and school his face into a neutral mask. People quietly excused themselves, some shooting T’Challa smiles, others pointedly trying to avoid eye contact.

He felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder, and then her soft hand was caressing his cheek. 

“It will work itself out,” she said cryptically before turning to exit. 

Shuri stood up, an impish smile on her face.

“What are you smiling about?” T’Challa asked against his better judgement.

“You and M’Baku,” she said, practically dancing in place.

“There is no me and M’Baku. That was…” T’Challa waves his hands at the screen, searching for something reasonable to explain away the blatant heart eyes he was making on the tape. “A trick of the camera. The press is known for their manipulations.”

“Sure, brother. That’s why you advocated so fiercely for them to be here.”

T’Challa scowled.

“Anyway,” Shuri continued. “I want you to know that like mother, I will also support you if you choose him. M’Baku may be an old-fashioned nag, but I am happy you found someone new.”

T’Challa raised his nose, defiant. He could not entertain this idea. It was out of his reach anyway, so there was no point in getting his hopes entangled in such talk. “I don’t know what you or Mother are talking about. I am not interested in M’Baku.”

Shuri hummed and exchanged a furtive glance with Okoye. “If you say so,” she sang as she turned on her heel to leave.

With everyone gone except for Okoye, the silence inside of the entertainment chamber was deafening. T’Challa stiffened, finally meeting the eyes of his General. She had the most smug and infuriating smirk on her face.

T’Challa raised his hand. “Not a word.”

Okoye’s eyes went wide with exaggerated surprise. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

T’Challa clenched his teeth as he walked out, the sound of her snickering echoing down the hall. 

*

T’Challa held onto a sliver of desperate hope that all would be forgotten by the morning. His sleep was fitful, marked by visions of M’Baku bursting through his private chamber doors, shirtless and hungry for a sparring session—in T’Challa’s bed. When the cock crowed, he awoke to sunshine on his face and his sheets twisted around his sweaty body. 

“ _Blerrie_ ,” he swore under his breath, closing his eyes against the sun. He showered, trying to ignore the leftover erection from his fevered dream. In the end he couldn’t ignore it, and quickly got himself off to the memory of M’Baku’s steady gaze on him, and the way his hips had shifted when they'd sparred.

As soon as he emerged from his chambers, he knew something was wrong. First of all, none of the Dora were around. Second, the castle was deathly quiet. T’Challa’s body instinctively went into high alert. Ready for anything, he walked with stealth along the long kumkani hallway, his eyes sharp.

There was a loud shriek that sounded too familiar. T’Challa launched into a full sprint towards the entertainment chamber. When he arrived, he found Okoye and half the Dora gathered around his sister peering down at something. A sinking feeling swept over T’Challa as he approached in silence. When he reached them, one by one each of the Dora’s eyes went wide in surprise and they looked away as if embarrassed. T’Challa frowned.

“What are you looking at?”

Okoye and Shuri had a silent conversation with their eyes that had T’Challa pursing his lips in frustration. He was just about to tell them to cut it out when Shuri turned to him and smiled.

“Brother, you're a celebrity! Look!”

T’Challa leaned down to examine the hologram image hovering above his sister’s arm. She had half a dozen browsers open. Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, something called Tumblr, and a blog named OhNoTheyDidn’t. That one in particular caught T’Challa’s eye because of the headline.

THE KING OF WAKANDA IS SMITTEN

Underneath was a picture of M’Baku, looking every bit the picture of fantasies, and next to _that_ picture was another one—a close up of the worst kind, featuring T’Challa’s love-struck expression, complete with dilated pupils and an open mouth. The only thing missing were little hearts for eyes.

“You are trending!” Shuri said, practically jumping. 

T’Challa’s eyes slid to Okoye, who was smirking too hard. “Your efforts to make Wakanda more visible appear quite successful, my King.”

“Shut it!” T’Challa murmured, his face hot. 

“I wonder what M’Baku will think of this,” Shuri said with glee. 

Inwardly groaning, T’Challa began thinking of excuses for why he had to retire his private chambers…indefinitely, or at least until he could figure out a way to avoid running into M’Baku for the next few months. 

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching drew all of their attentions to the entrance doors. T’Challa stopped breathing and tried to school his face so as not to reveal the sheer panic seizing his heart. 

A dropped pin could have been heard as M’Baku’s shadow darkened the doorway. T’Challa held in a curse when his handsome face suddenly appeared. He wore a black linen dashiki with white Jabari tribal stitching that went nicely with his white linen pants. 

T’Challa could feel his eyebrows climbing. M’Baku never wore such clothing, it was not the usual Jabari way. Not that T’Challa would complain. It was a very good look him.

Once again, he’d been caught staring. M’Baku chuckled and stalked forward, not unlike a panther. No one in the room moved, except for Okoye who stepped a little closer, her spear suddenly in T’Challa’s periphery.

“M’Baku,” T’Challa said stiffly, bracing for a confrontation. “I apologize for this unfortunate situation. I know you were against the visit from the start. And you were right. I will do everything in my power to make amends for this humiliation.”

A pregnant pause drew all of the air from the room as M’Baku’s eyes searched T’Challa’s.

When M’Baku’s mouth broke into a beautiful smile, T’Challa was confused.

“Humiliated? Why so?” He laughed so heartily it bounced off of the walls. “I look good on camera. And it appears you think so as well. There is no shame in that. On the contrary, I am… flattered. Do you have something you wish to discuss?”

Shock, disbelief, and excitement rendered T’Challa temporarily speechless. T’Challa could feel his eyes growing wide as strange bubble of fear and hope rose in his gut. 

“I…uh…” His eyes darted to Okoye, who seemed to be struggling to control her smile.

As hard as he tried, T’Challa could not find any words, but he knew he should say something. M’Baku’s expression was rapidly changing from one of open interest and anticipation to disappointment.

“Perhaps not,” M’Baku murmured as he began to turn away.

“Brother!” Shuri called sharply. “Don’t freeze! Tell him!”

T’Challa blinked as he looked back at his sister. When he glanced to Okoye, she gave him an encouraging nod. 

He took a deep breath and summoned all of his courage to follow M'Baku out into the hall, eyes drawn to the muscles of M’Baku’s retreating back. 

“Actually," he called after him, "I do have something to discuss.”

M’Baku stopped and slowly turned to look back, one very amused eyebrow raised.

T’Challa glanced behind him and cleared his throat. His sister was right. He could not freeze now. “Perhaps we could talk about it over dinner?" he suggested. "Tonight, in my chambers?”

M’Baku chuckled, affection clear on his face. “My King," he said warmly, "I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
